


Testimony 1: The Pianist

by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyholic/pseuds/justacookieofacumberbatch
Summary: One of Lucifer's sexual partners has a story to tell about her "best night ever."
Relationships: Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	Testimony 1: The Pianist

You want to know where I get the motivation to keep up the practice? Well, I could just tell you that I reward myself mightily when I’ve conquered a technique or mastered a piece. And that’s true, but it doesn’t fully encompass the entire concept. And unfortunately my technique is not easily duplicated. It’s a very strange set of circumstances, and some people might find it too extreme. Offensive, even. Taboo.

Okay, I’ll tell you. It all started with a girls night out a few months ago. We went to Lux, and there was this guy who played the piano, and there was just something so magnetic about him. And he played beautifully. And his hands! Mmph. Gorgeous hands flitting up and down the keyboard like it took no effort at all.

Well, a girl’s mind goes places, am I right? And such long fuckin’ fingers. And he picked up his drink from the piano and took a sip, and it was over for me. I had to have him.

So I sidle up to him and I’m all like, “Hey, that was some good-ass playing that you did out there.”

And then he’s all, “Do you enjoy the piano?”

And I’m all. “I love the piano. I just wish I had room for a piano at my place.”

And he’s all, “Would you like to play tonight?”

And I say, “I’m not playing in front of all these people.”

And he nods his head back and says, “Come with me.”

Now, I don’t normally blindly follow dudes I’ve just met, but that night, I could think of nothing I wanted more. It was like I was laser focused on his back, like his back had the keys to the universe, like I wanted to see it naked and run my fingers along the edges of his shoulder blades. He had a really nice suit, okay? And it made his shoulders look just… mwah! Sublime.

Anyway, I follow him to the elevator, and we ride it up. And then we come out to this beautiful room with a beautiful view and a, let me tell you, a gorgeous piano. A full-sized fucking grand. A bit much for the space if I’m honest, but who the hell cares. I could tell just from looking at it that it’s gonna sound great, and something tells me his home has brilliant acoustics, so I run to it and stroke the keys like I want to have sex with them. Projecting much? Ha ha.

So next thing I know, he’s purring in my ear, “Would you like to play me something?”

And oh my God I want to play him something. But I’m scrambling. It’s been a decade since I played a note, and I can’t remember anything. “I don’t know what I’d play,” I say.

“Play me some scales,” he says.

And I kinda chuckle and say, “Are you going to rap my knuckles if I mess up?”

And he says, “Only if you want me to.”

Sploosh. Am I right?

So I start playing scales, and they’re going okay. But it’s super hard to concentrate because he’s like slipping his arm around my waist, and nibbling at my ear, and just being really close and smelling so good. And then I realize, okay, he’s playing the same scales up and down my spine that I’m playing on the piano.

So I take it to two octaves and now he’s playing all the way from my ass to the nape of my neck. Okay? Just imagine that and then tell me it is not the fucking sexiest thing ever.

Anyway, after a minute of that, I’ve got sweat dripping down my back, and I’m panting like I just won a race. He grabs my chin and kisses me, and I’m like, yes!, and I take my hands of the keyboard when he pulls back and puts his finger on my mouth like he’s shushing me.

“Keep playing,” he says. So I play. More scales. And he kisses me, but every time I falter, get too distracted to play, he stops, so I start again, and this goes on until I’m so turned on I can’t concentrate on anything else. The keyboard is literally foreign to me. It makes no sense.

So then he pushes back the piano bench and kneels between me and the piano. And he threads his fingers in my hair and looks into my eyes, and I am lost. He knows how to get a lady going is all I know.

He asks me, “What do you desire?” And all I can think about are my fingers on the keys and his hands on my body.

“I want to play your piano.”

He grins at that and says, “Well aren’t you tricky?” He stares at me for a minute and then boops me on the nose and says, “I know just what to do with you.”

Then he pats my ass like he wants me to stand up. So, I stand up, and he opens the piano bench and pulls out Chopin. Opus 28. Number 15. Raindrop prelude.

He snaps open the sheet music, sets it on the stand, and gestures for me to sit. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says.

I say something. I can’t really remember what, and he’s all, “Master this piece and I’ll give you a reward.”

Intriguing, right? So I ask him what this reward is and he says, and I quote, because these words have been branded into my brain, “I’ll make you come until you forget your name.”

Yeah. That was… whoa.

So then I’m like. “I can’t do that in one night,” and he says, “Well then you’ll just have to come back tomorrow.”

So goes over to the bar, because that’s a thing people have in their living rooms, and he pours himself a drink and somehow manages to flop himself into the perfect gentleman’s pose in a chair where he can watch my hands but I also can see him out of the corner of my eye. Just barely, but I am super aware of him as I try to find the first notes on the piano, but I’m so distracted and so fucking turned on that I can’t even remember where middle C is. I actually have to look for the golden Steinway at the center of the keyboard and remind myself which set of black keys go above the C.

I’m all, four flats? What key is that? Which notes are they? Every good boy deserves fudge? B flat. B flat goes first, right?

It’s A flat Major, by the way. I figured it out eventually. 

Anyway, I somehow manage to start sight reading my way through, crappily, I might add. I was pretty rusty. And I’m convinced he’s going to change his mind and shut the lid, the one over the keys, on my fingers.

But no, I finish slogging my way through it and he says, “Again.” And it’s all deep and gruff, like, this is really rocking his boat if you know what I’m saying.

So I start another playthrough and he slinks his way over and spends the next several minutes distracting me in the sexiest ways possible. He starts with an ice cube on my neck and then licking the melted water off my skin. Sliding his palm up my thigh. And it’s rough. It lit my skin on fire. And after I don’t know how long of this, he sends me on my way with an invitation to come back tomorrow.

It’s addictive, but I didn’t think he was serious. He doesn’t actually want me to come back the next day, does he? 

So I don’t.

And then Friday rolls around, and I’m feeling a little frisky. And all I’ve been thinking about are that piano and those hands! Oh mah God!

So I go to the club thinking I’ll just wait until he plays something and sidle up to the piano, maybe on the off chance he was serious. And he fucking finds me. I’m there maybe fifteen minutes when I hear, “Hello, pianist,” with so much delight in his voice that I feel like I’m floating.

I spin around and he’s too close, but it works on him, and he’s grinning, and he says, “Back for another go, are we?”

And I’m freaking because I don’t know which entendre to follow.

“At my piano.”

That still feels like a euphemism, but I say yes anyway. Or not anyway. I’m feeling all kinds of okay about any interpretation of those sentences.

He grabs my hand and leads me to the elevator, and I’m running after him, and I don’t know if there was any time I felt like anyone was this openly enthusiastic about me. It felt damned good getting dragged onto that elevator.

And he’s so magnetic, I couldn’t wait until the elevator closed to crowd against him. And I looked up at him, and he looked down at me, and his hands are on my hips, and my hands have a death grip on his shirt, and he says, “You should have come sooner.”

And I’m like, “I didn’t think you were serious.”

And he says, “I may not always be serious, but I never lie.” And then he rumbles in my ear, “If you had listened the first time, you would have come sooner.”

He meant orgasms.

So that night was kinda similar to the first night, where I’d be playing the piano and he’d be distracting me. And so were most subsequent nights, though oftentimes other people were there. He’s bisexual, by the way. Interesting fact.

One time, I played during an orgy. Not the whole time. I left around eleven. I had work in the morning.

That wasn’t the best time, though. The best time, it was just the two of us, which didn’t happen that often. I mean, he wasn’t having sex with a different person every night. It was more like 3 out of 5, and I’m assuming on the weekend, too. I only came Sunday through Thursday. Or didn’t, you know.

Anyway, the best time. It was about a month in, and I had gotten pretty good at the piece despite the copious distractions, and I was thinking the torture was about to come to an end, because certainly no one’s standards are that high for making a woman come, right? So I was all horny and excited, but then in the middle of the, like, dark and dramatic part he just pulls the sheet music off the stand.

And I’m freaking out because I’m thinking he’s about to kick me out and it’ll be one month plus the first night of excruciating foreplay without the big finish and the thought of that made me depressed. I mean, come on! One month! I had skipped the placebo week of my birth control just to make sure I wasn’t going to be on my period for the big moment, and now placebo week is about to roll back around. So I’m really looking to get things going. 

But, he sits next to me, straddling the bench so he can face me with his whole body, still mostly in this gorgeous suit that’s been tailored to within an inch of its life, except for the tie, and the shirt’s a little crumpled, and his breath is all sweet and smoky and really really close to my ear so I’ve got goosebumps on the back of my neck. Very ASMR.

And he says, “Don’t stop.”

And I’m all, “I don’t know the piece that well.”

And he says, “You know it better than you think,” and he’s probably right because, full disclosure, I played it in a recital when I was a teenager. I mean, that’s true of a lot of well-known classical, or Romantic, whatever, piano pieces, but still. I figure if I can think back to the recital, maybe I can remember more than I think.

So I start from the beginning, and he’s all, “From where you left off.”

And I’m thinking this is the part of what’s become clear to me is an incredibly extended BDSM scene (which I’d never been into before, by the way, but I dug it) where the humiliation comes into play. But after a minute of kind of playing through the song in my head, I start where I left off.

And it’s going okay, but he’s breathing in my ear, and at this point it’s like a Pavlovian response. Except I’m not drooling from my mouth ifyou catch my drift. He’s about to whisper things that would make a whore blush. And his hand’s sliding up and down my thigh and his breath is getting ragged. And it just kills me to know that this gets him as worked up as I am, and I just want to grab him and kiss him and straddle him and grind down against him, but that’s not in the rules, so I keep playing. Muscle memory helps me out a bit, but it’s tough going, and then the rumble comes.

And he says… actually I can’t remember what he said because all I could think about was the rumble and purr and low laugh in my ear.

Just as an aside, you gotta love the enthusiasm. I mean teasing me at the piano really got this guy going, like my pleasure excited him. It delighted him. Like this kinky game we made up is the most fun thing he’s ever done. It’s awesome.

But anyway, he might as well have his hands all over me with the way I can feel his voice all through my body, but all there is are his arm around my waist, holding me close, and his groin against my hip, and. I. Can feel things. Good things. Big things.

Not so big that the average woman would be intimidated, but… above average. And it has a curve in it that is, just, it’s nice. And it has a bit of a stretch to it, but you can still take it in one go. Of course I was like Niagara Falls be the time he, you know.

But of course I didn’t know anything about it at this point, but I could feel it against my hip, and that hadn’t happened before. He was still enthusiastic before, still purring instructions in my ear and delighting at my obedience, but he’d kept enough distance between us enough that I could never feel it before. It had always been a mystery until that point. And he was always either behind me or walking away from me or hiding behind the piano. Not like a peek a boo or anything. I just couldn’t see much of the place from my vantage point.

Well, having this mystery brought to life in such a visceral way was just, unh! Yeah! 

Oh fuck, I almost passed out. And I know that sounds like hyperbole, but a month. A month. One. Whole. Month. 

You ever spent 30 days edging? Then don’t judge.

“Oh, fuck,” was all I could say and basically collapse into his arms like a damn debutante.

“Why’d you stop playing?” he asks, and his voice is brimming with mischief.

And I tell him, “I can’t.” Because all the things I’ve imagined him doing with that thing pressing against my hip crash over me at once. And more. I’m done. I am donezo.

“I’m not fucking you until I can do this and you”—here he pointed to the keys—“can do that.”

I couldn’t exactly form words at the moment, so I just whined and he chuckled in my ear and I kinda wanted to slap him and I kinda just wanted him to keep laughing. You have to understand, his voice is like velvet, like you’ve taken the softest feather and stroked it against the most sensitive part of your neck.

Seriously, if you ever get the chance to sleep with him, you should.

Anyway, I’m like, I’ll show him, and I spend all of my free time in the next few weeks practicing. I even snuck into a practice room at UCLA more than once just to get some unadulterated time at the piano. And I spent spare moments at work “playing” on my desktop. Like, the top of my desk, not my computer. Though I suppose I could get a keyboard that plugs into the computer. That might be kind of cool, actually. Takes up less room than an actual piano, and I can store it in the closet. I’ll need to find one with weighted keys, though. I wonder how much that would cost me.

Anyway, one month and 23 days from the second practice session, since that’s when we really got started, I did it. And let me tell you. Worth. It.

Not to say I didn’t enjoy the build up. I really, really did, but my God did it feel good to finally get some release, and somehow, now that I knew it was permitted, it took maybe 30 seconds to get me to come the first time.

Wanna know how he did it? He crept in between me and the piano and just pushed aside my panties—I wore a skirt, of course. I ain’t no fool—and went to town. Mouth, fingers, the whole shebang. And he wasn’t shy about it either. He went whole hog, lapping at it like it was the most delicious ice cream cone in the world.

Ooh, I’m getting tingly just thinking about it. See that? Goosebumps.

I mean, he spent a lot of time going down on me. A lot. Probably longer than anyone had ever done before. Cumulative. Or come-ulative. Yuk yuk yuk.

Like, after I came on the piano bench, he led me over to the couch, bent me over and did it again from behind. He even licked my… you know… butt, which makes me very glad that I showered before I came over, and spent a little extra time on that area, ‘cause I thought he might be into that sort of stuff and if there was any time to try it, well, this was it.

And this was before I was even naked. The only thing he’d done at that point was pull my underpants to my ankles. And I hadn’t taken anything into my own hands because I was too busy having a face shoved in my crotch. Which kinda makes it sound less sexy than it is.

Did I mention he was still wearing his suit? With the little red pocket square still perfect, though his hair was a bit messed up. I mean, a lot. I’m shocked I didn’t come away with any hair on my fingers, but he didn’t complain. He actually seemed to really like it. He’d do this low laugh thing that also happened to feel really good.

And he spanked me. Never did that before, but I dig it.

And I laid on my stomach on these really nice sheets. I mean, these things had to have a thread count in the millions. And his bedroom is really sexy, too. It’s got this great view and a cool stone wall, and it’s open to the rest of the place, so you feel kind of on display. And you can hear the people milling outside the club and a bit of the music, so you end up thinking about all those people just an elevator ride away from you completely oblivious.

Anyway, awesome bed. But he, like, dripped wax on my back, and I was a little nervous, because here was another thing I haven’t tried before, but he dripped a little on the back of my hand and then asked me what I thought. And it didn’t hurt as much as I expected it to, and then he took my hand and peeled off the hardened wax, and it wasn’t that red, so I didn’t figure it would be uncomfortable tomorrow. And, he had my hand in both of his and was rubbing his thumbs over the back of my hand, and his fingers were pressed to my palms. And I’d already had three orgasms by this point and every touch made me shiver. He could have touched my elbow and I’d have swooned.

So of course this seemed like the sexiest idea ever. So he pulled back the covers on his bed and flung them aside in a move so smooth I came this close to demanding an encore.

And he held out his hand and led me onto the bed, and I stepped up and did a little tip toe around because, as I said, awesome bed. He chuckled, a laugh that is pure sex even under normal circumstances, and asked me to kneel, so I did. He climbed up next to me—and did I mention? Still clothed. His suit coat was off by this point and his shirt was all rumpled, and he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows because he was not going to let a couple of cuffs get in the way.

Yeah… Good stuff. Very good. Arms and, like, shoulder blades. Or no, on the front. Clavicles. Dude’s got some nice clavicles. I wanted to lap whiskey off of it. Mm.

Where was I? 

Oh yes! Shirtsleeves!

He’d rolled up his sleeves because, you know, his hands were getting messy, and it was a good look on him, and he had me kneeling on the bed.

So I’m kneeling on the bed, right? And he like… he just… goes for it, man, and by this point, I mean, slip & slide, so whoop! Pop goes the weasel, and we’re off to the races.

And he gets me this close, I mean, look at how close together my fingers are. This close. And just stops.

And this is the state I’m in when he has me lie flat on my tummy and drips wax on me. Friend, I was clawing at the sheets. I ripped out one of the corners, and he stopped. To fix it.

He stopped.

To fix it.

I mean, balance it out, the evening was still so far in the net positive that this will long qualify for greatest night ever. But in that moment, I wanted to kill him. He had me dying, my skin was so sensitized that the sheets were giving me shivers. And he just stops. To fix it.

But still, I’d recommend the wax dripping thing, to. I’d recommend sleeping with that guy. Seriously, 10 out of 10, would bang again, would recommend to a friend.

Because in all honesty, and I thought people were lying about this before because really? How is that possible? But I did it. I came until I passed out.

So next thing I know, the morning sun is waking me up and he’s coming up the elevator with a tray and two covered plates, which he brings to the bedroom, and uncovers them like, “Ta da!” And it’s a good thing because I was starving.

So he says something about how I must need to eat after a good night’s work, and I’m like shut up let me eat. Well, not really. I think I just agreed and dug in.

And then he asks, wait for it, ok? Then he asks, “What piece do you want to learn next?”

So that’s how I get motivated to practice.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Lucifer fandom! Nice to meet you!
> 
> Come talk to me on Twitter. I'm @cookieofabatch.


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